


all that glimmers is gold

by Bommie20



Category: Spyro, Spyro the Dragon (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Backstory, Explosions, Friendship, Gen, Sparx-centric, classic Spyro - Freeform, dragonfly anatomy (?)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-07 23:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17375111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bommie20/pseuds/Bommie20
Summary: Spyro and Sparx, the unbeatable duo, together forever. Sparx's life may have begun just like any other dragonfly, but it wouldn't stay that way for long





	1. Chapter 1

(I felt a little bad that Sparx had such a small role in my last story, so now he gets one of his own! You **don't** need to have read Homeward to understand this one.)

* * *

For all Sparx could not recall most of his younger years with much clarity, he would describe them as completely unremarkable.

His life began the same as any other dragonfly in his position – encased in a translucent jelly egg on the underside of a lily pad in the humid depths of Dragonfly Falls, not that this would have meant anything to him at the time. To attempt to count the number of his siblings that slumbered beside him in their own eggs would have been nought but a fool's errand, but it must have numbered in the thousands, the green leathery underside of the lily pad barely visible through the transparent mass of eggs and the innumerable dark flecks hiding within. He would have spent his days bobbing in the water as the gentle vortices created by the waterfalls tenderly rocked the lily pad he was attached to like a ship in the open seas, but at that point he was nothing more than a miniscule black speck against the sapphire waters, one of thousands just like him.

The start of what would become his greatest adventure began the same as any other.

Sparx couldn't tell at what point his senses developed enough to interact with the world around him; all he knew was that one day he abruptly snapped into awareness ready to face the world. His entire life up until that point had existed within the confines of his egg, the jelly not clear enough for him to make much sense of the environment that existed beyond the walls of his cage, and he was well overdue his freedom. Sparx wriggled as much as his tiny limbs would allow him to before puncturing the jelly egg that had protected him from the unknown world and burst into the waters around him. He remembered the sudden shock of cold that had not been able to penetrate through the layers of his egg, and he remembered the sight of innumerable nymphs birthing from their own prisons around him. At that point there was no way to distinguish any dragonfly nymph from the hundreds of others – Sparx sometimes wasn't sure where he ended and his siblings began.

He was amazed at the world around him, at least at first, the seemingly endless expanse of blue and green to explore overwhelming his senses. The cloudiness of his egg had not done the hues of the water and plants justice, acting like a cataract that dulled and blurred any light that could even pierce the egg to turn Sparx's view of the world into little more than a mosaic. He was torn between a burning desire to explore every corner of these new lands, and a deep dread at what monsters could exist just beyond the next river bend. The newly hatched dragonfly nymph discovered that the constant chatter of his siblings reverberated through his head as he existed within a cloud of identical naiads, none of the immature dragonflies brave enough to venture out on their own, Sparx included. He tolerated it for the sake of the safety of the pack.

Even at such a young age he found himself overflowing with curiosity at the world surrounding him. He could tentatively peek his head above the surface of the water for a few minutes, able to breathe for a time as long as the spiracles on his abdomen remained underwater. His eyes were not developed enough to could make out anything more than an incoherent blur, but he could still hold witness the explosion of colours that assaulted his compound eyes every time he dared to glance above the surface of the water. Bursts of red, pink, gold, every colour he could imagine existed in a bouquet together, putting the constant blue and green hue of the water to shame. His favourite were the spots of bright yellow that stood out even against the symphony of pigments that peppered the unseen world around him like streetlights. He could only dream that one day he would be able to see the origin of those colours first hand.

He didn't have to wait that long.

Sparx would never be able to describe what changed on that day, but when he awoke he knew it was time. Time for what, he would ask? He wasn't sure, but his siblings seemed to feel similarly. A sense of agitation vibrated through his chitinous limbs as if he was about to burst at the seams with energy. The dragonfly nymph felt anxiety like he had never known before, even after all those times he narrowly dodged the jaws of a predator or three. It was like electricity ran through his veins and out of his twitching antennae. He **needed** to get out.

And the only way was up.

Dodging the thick cloud of naiads, Sparx swam as quickly as his spindly legs would allow and grasped the thick green stem of a water reed. His gills fluttered in anticipation as he clambered up the plant until his head broke the surface of the water. He sucked in as much oxygenated water as he could hold and continue upwards, his sense of urgency driving him more than any fear of the unknown world could. He only allowed himself to rest when he no longer felt the chilly water on his back, and he stopped for a moment. This was the first time he had been completely exposed to the elements above his watery home, although it wasn't in the circumstances that he had hoped for.

Blinking rapidly as his eyes began to dry out he noticed that the colours around him seemed foggier, as if his vision was being blocked by something. Not only that, but a loud buzzing noise around him was causing such a ruckus that he swore he was developing a headache. Sparx wasn't sure if it was just because he was fully out of water for the first time, but his limbs seemed to be stiffening as if they were drying out and locking in place. The anxiety burning inside of him reached a head at the realisation that he was quickly losing the ability to move. He clenched his eyes shut in immense effort as he wiggled with all of his might, trying to get his unresponsive limbs to cooperate before he became little more than a statue.

As he moved around his skin _did_ begin to splinter, and Sparx took the opportunity to break out of his chitin and free himself. First his legs, then his abdomen, and finally his head. He stretched as his body was freed from its prison, feeling the cathartic cracking in his joints as the energy that had been building up inside of him finally had a release. His spiracles could now suck in the air around him rather than needing to full it from the water, and he drew in a deep breath. The salty air stung a little, but the sensation wasn't wholly unpleasant.

Well, at least he now knew the source of all those colours.

His eyes crystal clear for the first time in his life, he was witness to a vast expanse of green grass and plants topped with flowers in every colour that his mind could imagine. He saw large yellow tulips rocking idly in the breeze, ruby red poppies poking up between rocks, and the cyan blue waters of the river below him, now ever more vibrant than ever. He _also_ saw what at first looked like a cloud of smoke, but as his eyes adjusted to their new resolution he spotted individual dragonflies in every colour of the rainbow and emitting a glow that individually was quite dim but when combined was enough to rival the sun.

He was delighted to find that his moult had shed his dull brown exoskeleton to make way for a vibrant golden glow that cascaded off every surface of his new body, barring light blue claws on the tip of each leg. He recalled his fascination with the spots of canary yellow he could pick out from the blurry haze of the sky and how his heart leapt at the joyful hue whenever he spotted it, and felt the same feeling overcome him knowing that he himself was now the colour he loved the most. Spreading his now completely dry wings he took off for the first time, effortless as if he had done it a million times before, and joined the cloud of dragonflies in the air above the waters. He swooped and dived and added his own cheering and hollering to the ruckus.

This was the first time that Sparx could recall feeling truly alive.

* * *

The first time that Sparx saw a dragon he damn near died of fright.

The yellow dragonfly had only just begun to settle into his new life as a mature insect, finding that adjusting to life outside of the river that he had previously called his home was a bit of an assault on his senses. He felt like he had culture shock in a sense. He had spent such a long time craving the ability to explore the lands above the surface of the water, but now that he was capable of doing exactly _that_ he was overwhelmed by possibilities. Where would a dragonfly even begin in a world where everything was so much bigger than him?! He had seen the confines of the river as a hindrance, but now he recognised that it provided protection from anything that could swoop in and snatch him up before he would have known what was happening.

At least the butterflies were tasty.

The first dragon that had appeared to the swarm of newly hatched dragonflies had revealed himself well before Sparx even knew what a dragon _was._ Many of his brethren had flown away in fear of the large reptile that towered above them, curled horns upon his head as sharp as knives and green eyes that seemed to glow in the light of the setting sun. He walked with purpose, careful not to treat on any animal or plant that could not withstand the weight of the lizard in one piece, but certainly made no effort to conceal his presence; he leaned heavily against a wooden cane that did nothing to disguise the limp in his left leg. The dragon radiated a sense of indomitable pride that demanded respect.

Sparx had seen a lot of frightening creatures before, both above and below the surface of the water, but none that carried themselves which such an aura of importance. Even though the reptile was clearly making a conscious effort to minimise their imprint on the local flora and leave as little damage as possible in their wake, the golden dragonfly couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his chitin-covered spine. A creature like that could flatten a dragonfly between two fingers before you could say "ouch", and probably wouldn't think twice about it. He carried a large woven basket in one arm which was covered by a red tartan sheet and radiated a sweet smell that wafted on the breeze and tempted the dragonfly hoard with promises of nectar and sugar. He stood his ground.

Sparx noted that the dragon in question bore a striking resemblance to the towering granite statue that loomed over the Dragonfly Falls like a guardian. If he looked close enough he could almost swear that the two were the same individual. Was this creature perhaps some kind of caretaker of the dragonflies?

Sparx had already begun to tire of his surroundings – the vibrant hue and sweet smells of the flowers that had once captivated his mind were now just as humdrum as the dirt of the riverbed. He was not content to sit in one spot for the rest of his life, secure within the safety of the pack and sheltered from the world around him. The yellow dragonfly was now more than confident in the strength of his wings, but he knew that any moderately sized beast wouldn't think twice about gobbling up something his size. After all, he did the same with butterflies. There was a difference between being adventurous and being _stupid_ , and Sparx did not consider himself to be a simple-minded vertebrate.

Once he managed to break himself out of his fear-entranced state, he noticed the creature's companions.

The mustard dragon had not come alone. He was accompanied by a small collection of elderly looking dragonflies, their glow dimmed with age but still bright enough to reflect off the dragon's scales in a rainbow. Their wings and exoskeletons lacked the bright pigments of Sparx or even his siblings, desaturated as if faded from the steady march of time, and a couple even had tiny pairs of glasses strapped to their heads in front of beady and squinting eyes. Sparx had never encountered a dragonfly that was not part of the swarm he was born in, but his curiosity was hindered by his suspicion of the whole situation. He darted up to his favourite yellow tulip and pressed himself into the gaps between the petals, hoping that their shared hue would disguise him well enough if things turned sour.

The mismatched group seemed to pick a spot ideal for whatever their purposes were and seated themselves; the dragon dug the end of his cane into the earth like a lightning rod and sat back on his thick tail while the dragonflies perched on nearby flowers. The reptile removed the tartan cloth from the basket, allowing the sweet scent of nectar and fruit juice to escape and wash over the waterfalls, filling the air with sugar and making Sparx's mouth water. The fruit was offered to the aging dragonflies, who accepting without any hint of hesitation. Dragonflies were generally more partial to eating other insects, but would any insect ever turn out a sip of the elixir of fruits?

Sparx could feel the tension in the air at the uninvited guests, but the party did not interact with the swarm at all, at least not at first. They seemed content to sit and chat, talking about something frightfully mundane that was drowned out by the roaring of the waterfall behind them, although their pealing laughter still run out across the water like wind chimes. A couple of the young dragonflies drew closer to the group, tempted by either the sweet scent of fruit juices or by curiosity alone. The unnamed dragon's eyes flicked out towards the approaching insects, who flinched in response and darted backwards in trepidation.

He simply laughed and held out a piece of fruit in invitation.

* * *

Sparx would later attribute this moment in his life with the high praise of being the moment that his world grew by three sizes. It seemed he wasn't the only one outgrowing the confines of Dragonfly Falls and pining for the fjords, at least not if the complaining of his siblings was anything to go by. The introduction of the relationship between the dragons and their dragonflies was extremely intimidating, but at the same time it opened up many doors of opportunities that Sparx would never have even considered. He might have only been a tiny insect, but his heart far outsized his yellow exoskeleton, figuratively at least.

He had been practically bursting at the seams with anxious energy the first time he left Dragonfly Falls and travelled to the Dojo for training. The dragon, that he now knew went by the name Titan, and the elderly dragonflies that accompanied him had obviously found themselves in such a situation before and were very much prepared for the initial hostility when they approached the swarm. Sparx had never encountered a dragonfly that was born before was, never mind a _dragon_ , so the tension was expected. After the fervour had settled, which was definitely helped by the fact that most of the dragonflies now had full bellies, they had posed the proposition that they had traversed through the dense rainforest for.

The world they described outside the boundaries of the waterfalls sounded nothing short of alien to Sparx, as they pictured Realms where sand and ice existed side by side, where castles reached to claw at the clouds above them, and dreams could be trapped in jars. The golden dragonfly had only known the world within the nigh impenetrable wall of tropical trees so had assumed that the jungle simply went on forever. The prospect of such an enormous variety of uncharted terrains to explore and undocumented creatures to meet filled him with equal amounts of nervousness and wonder. They offered the opportunity to traverse these remarkable lands and perhaps even the lands beyond, but there was a catch. Or at least a compromise.

Dragonflies didn't have enough inherent magic to survive outside of the waterfalls for any significant amount of time – their livelihood was directly tied to the magic cascading in the rivers where they were hatched. Not only that, but the stress of travelling through portals would be enough to rip such a tiny creature apart in seconds, practically trapping the insects within the boundaries of their Homeworld. The insects would be chained to the jungle unless they had some assistance from a being with enough magic to sustain their wellbeing, and this was exactly what Titan was offering.

If a dragonfly agreed to it they would be partnered with a young dragon: a child too weak and small to defend itself by any noteworthy means. Their scales would not have hardened enough to deflect weapons, their wings not strong enough to carry them further than a short glide, and their legs too short to even allow them to walk upright. The dragonflies could offer their own magic, the magic that rippled from their wings and gave them their signature glow, which would extend to the dragon under their care and shield them from harm. Of course, that wouldn't make the dragon pup completely invulnerable – a smack over the head was still a smack over the head. The dragonfly would simply protect them from lasting damage.

In return, the magic within even the youngest and most immature dragon hatchling would not only allow a dragonfly to live a long and happy life outside of Dragonfly Falls, but would also guard them against the hazards of the world that an invertebrate couldn't face on their own. Even if a dragonfly was confident in their ability to fly under the power of their own wings, they would quickly find themselves in the maw and subsequently the belly of some hideous monster with no way to defend themselves. Very few creatures would _dare_ attack a dragonfly while under the wing of a fire-breathing spike-covered horn-armed dragon.

Sparx wondered why a dragon would need the help of a dragonfly anyway. If they were only called to assist with the protection of the children, what were they doing to put themselves in a position of danger to begin with?!

Titan seemed a little perturbed by how many dragonflies refused the offer. Sparx couldn't necessarily blame them – many saw the proposition as either more of an inconvenience than it was worth, and some even outright called it slave labour. The dragons were asking the insects to offer their own wellness and health for the sake of a species that they had never even encountered before, so were less than willing to cooperate. The strength of a dragon wasn't needed within the secure boundaries of Dragonfly Falls, and no danger would befall them if they never left. They saw it not as a cage, but as a safety net.

Sparx disagreed.

He wasn't sure how he felt about the whole situation with it being thrust at him so suddenly, but he could sniff out an opportunity when he saw one. This was the chance he had spent so many nights staring up at the unreachable stars dreaming of – a chance to leave the waterfalls and finally get out into the worlds beyond the rivers and trees. Maybe he could even explore lands that had never been touched before! He could barely contain himself at the prospect of such a monumental task, but it was exhilarating. Hopefully whatever dragon he was partnered with felt the same.

And therein lay the first problem.

The dragonflies that were open to the idea were escorted to Dragonfly Dojo, a vast lands filled with intricate wooden huts and surrounded by faintly glowing paper lamps, and equally filled with areas of nothingness. Buildings made of burnt red wood could be surrounded by miles of open yellowish grass with not a single structure in sight, interrupted only by solitary bonsai trees with jagged branches and orbs of leaves as if growing like limbs from the ground. Sparx was so used to the overwhelming cacophony of noise and colour from the waterfalls that seeing such a sparse world made him feel a little agoraphobic. He knew he wasn't a particularly large creature, but hovering a few feet off the ground surrounds by miles of open fields really reinforced this idea.

The dragons were very _particular_ about partnering their offspring with the right dragonfly, almost to the point of neuroticism. They compared the process to building a house – you needed a solid foundation before you could start putting the walls up. Sparx didn't completely understand that analogy, seeing as he had never lived in a house before, but he trusted that the dragons knew what they were talking about. After all, if they were going to let their children frolic away with a dragonfly in tow for the better half of their younger years then at least they were taking it seriously.

The intention was to expose the dragonflies to the various dragon hatchlings during a large festival, held every 12 years to coincide with the Year of the Dragon. There the two species would mix freely, under the watchful eye of the Dragon Masters of course, with the purpose of finding the other half of their inevitable pairs. The dragons didn't seem to subscribe to the belief that pairs were preordained, but they _did_ believe that there was some magic that would link the two together. Some kind of string that would tie the two individuals together but would only reveal itself once the two met.

They said that Sparx would 'know when it was right'.

The golden dragonfly doubted his abilities, especially when standing under the shadow of dragons that were centuries or even millennia older than he was, but he persevered. While _he_ would have described himself as being completely mundane in every way, it seemed that whatever dragon he bonded with would feel differently, and that put a slight spring in his wings. When he was part of the swarm he was a literal nobody among the innumerable identical siblings, so the thought that someone would see him as special filled his chest with warmth. He just hoped that he and his partner would at least have something in common – it would be a long few years otherwise.

Sparx would describe the festival as 'organised chaos', but only if he felt like being generous. The dragons known as 'Artisans' had laid out an enormous feast ranging from pastries and barbequed meats, fruit and scones, and more than one type of gloopy quiche that still lay untouched. Another group of dragons, self-proclaimed as 'Peace Keepers', stood guard outside the throngs of the festivities, stoic and resolute and clad in scaled armour. Sparx wondered what would justify such extensive protective measures, but considering that the celebrations involved _children_ that could also breathe fire he supposed it wasn't in vain.

Sparx wouldn't describe himself as… _nervous_ around those he didn't know, per se, but he was a little intimidated by the huge crowd of both dragons and dragonflies. The fog of noise and smells was overstimulating his senses, and he yearned for the peaceful ambience of the waterfalls. This was the first time he had felt truly homesick for his birthplace, but it would not be the last. He felt out of his depths, especially seeing the outgoing demeanour of some of his siblings. He was almost a little envious at the devil-may-care attitude of the other dragonflies that were whizzing around the festival and enjoying themselves while he just sat and felt awkward in the corner.

A couple of brightly coloured dragonflies were being chased around by a horde of baby dragons, most quadrupedal as their sense of balance had not developed enough for a bipedal stance. A few stragglers had formed a devious team and were carefully pilfering treats from the food table and eating the snacks in secret. A tall lanky orange dragon had brought a lute and was playing a jig while a couple of small dragons danced, or least attempted to. It was a good thing their horns were too small to be of any danger, otherwise someone would have lost an eye with all the flailing around they were doing.

Sparx was content to sit back and take in the sights for a moment. He found an empty spot on a table that _used_ to contain one of the quiches before it mysteriously vanished and found itself in a trash bin nearby, and rested his wings for a moment. The glow radiating from the other dragonflies was starting to hurt his eyes with the intense range of colours, and the dragon pups were no different. Their scales were saturated with pigment on their own, but when in the presence of light they were practically iridescent.

Sparx wondered if this whole shtick was a good idea after all.

The golden dragonfly's morose mood was interrupted by a sudden commotion that erupted behind him. The baby dragons didn't seem to even notice - too focused on their unrestrained chaos to care - but the older dragons paused briefly and turned to take a gander at the situation. Many simply shook their heads in exasperation before blithely returning to their conversations. Whatever was happened was clearly a regular occurrence for it to not be worth the attention of the dragons. Sparx _was_ intrigued, however, and left his improvised resting spot to get a closer look, dodging the occasional scaly tail to inch his way forward.

The yellow dragonfly was greeted with the sight of a very tall and muscular green dragon, scales like emeralds and wearing an opulent jacket with puffy sleeves. The dragon's demeanour was intimidating and not just because of his size; his attention was directed to one specific individual. The focus of his ire was a small, slightly chubby looking dragon with scales in the most vibrant purple hue Sparx had ever seen. It even rivalled the colours of the flowers he doted over in the waterfalls, and it was certainly enough to catch anyone's attention.

"That's not good enough, Spyro," the taller dragon grumbled. "The festival takes place on the same day every year."

The purple dragon shuffled on his feet meekly, not making eye contact with the taller dragon that stared down at him with his arms crossed.

"I _know_ ," he replied. "But Delbin gave us homework and I was up all night working on it, and I sort of forgot about the time…"

He trailed off, noticing how feeble his excuse was. Nestor's expression did not change, remaining thoroughly deadpan and impenetrable.

"That work was allocated a week ago!" the green dragon retorted. "Falling behind on your studies isn't an excuse – all of the other dragons are here on time and I'm sure they had the same work that you did."

Sparx couldn't help but feel a little bad for the young dragon. Being chided like that in front of his peers would have humiliated even the most stoic beast, especially on a day intended for celebrations. The yellow dragonfly was fortunate enough to have never been berated in his life before, but considering that the first encounter with the elders of his species had been less than a month ago this was perhaps not saying much. He wondered what he would have done if he found himself being laid into like the dragon was. He would probably just cry.

The purple dragon had been excused by his elder, and held himself in a disgraced pose while a couple of his siblings patted him reassuringly on the back. The green dragon was right about one thing – most of the other dragon pups had paired up with a dragonfly, leaving very few remaining. The festival was clearly coming to a close with the slowly setting sun, as any remaining food was packed up and the 'Peace Keepers' left their stations to help with clearing the mess. One or two dragonflies seemed too shy or nervous to do anything except hide from the festivities, meaning they would be missing out on finding their partners. The held back from the crowds, content to sit on a flower and watch the ruckus from a distance.

Sparx wondered what happened to dragons that didn't find their dragonfly.

He shook his head – he should be more concerned about what happened to dragonflies that didn't connect with their dragon! He had spent the entire festival buzzing around and watching the baby dragons careen about at the speed of light with no regard for their own safety and had completely forgotten why he came in the first place! Without a dragon to partner with, he would no doubt be resigned to spending the rest of his life in Dragonfly Falls. After everything he had come through to get this far, leaving with nothing to show for it would be crushing.

Then again, wasn't there another who was desperate for a partner? One who had almost completely missed out on the opportunity? One who was standing right in front of him? Sure, Sparx would have preferred to get to know a dragon first before vowing to spend the rest of his natural life as part of a two-man team, but he remembered what he was told. He would _'just know'_ when the time was right, and it seemed like this opportunity was presenting itself to him on a platter. He would be a fool to go back to his birthplace empty handed, and Sparx did not consider himself to be a simple-minded vertebrate.

Taking a deep breath, the golden dragonfly steeled his nerves and approached the purple dragon.

* * *

Sparx wasn't expecting to have to use his magic so quickly.

Spyro and Sparx had only called themselves a duo for maybe a month or so before Gnasty Gnorc attacked and turned the reptilian population of the Dragon Realms to crystal. The purple dragon had always detested his petite size and sought to compensate for what he felt was lacking in his stature with his actions. While the predicament that had befallen the lustrous lands was woeful at best and horrifying at worst, he had keenly jumped at the opportunity to prove his might to his peers _despite_ his size. Sparx always got the impression that Spyro was trying to prove his might to _himself_ more than anyone else, but he would never admit it out loud.

The two had hit it off almost immediately, which the dragonfly was endlessly thankful for. Sparx couldn't say for sure when the two had evolved from "friends" to "best friends" but knowing the tenacity of the purple dragon it probably didn't take long. Initially he thought that the gel holding the duo together was born out of convenience alone, but he quickly discovered that he held a soft spot for the dopey dragon. Spyro wasn't the smartest dragon he had ever met, not that he could name many dragons that he was acquainted with, but his earnest and honest nature and his drive to do what was right drew people towards him.

It might have also gotten them into trouble more than once.

The attitude that seemed to permeate across the denizens of the Dragon Realms was that dragonflies were similar to finely crafted tools. They were to be respected and cared for, sure, but ultimately their purpose was to protect the dragon pups that they were bonded to and nothing more. When a dragon became old enough to defend themselves, when their scales were nigh impenetrable and their fire hot enough to melt steel, the two would inevitably part ways. Those dragonflies, now feeling the effects of their extended lifespan offered at the behest of the dragon's magic, would return to the sanctuary of Dragonfly Falls and live out the rest of their lives training the next generation of dragonflies to come.

Sparx wasn't certain if he was just being overly optimistic, but he could swear that his relationship with Spyro was different than merely "tools". The yellow dragonfly had quickly found himself attached at the hip to his friend, suffering from culture shock at the sudden exposure to the Dragon Realms. The worlds were almost frighteningly expansive compared to the relatively compact size of Dragonfly Falls, with the terrain changing simply by turning a corner. Once again he bordered on agoraphobic, which was a feeling had he been subdued by before but was not one that he enjoyed.

Spyro seemed to appreciate the notion of having another by his side at almost all times. The purple dragon hated stillness and silence in every form it presented itself, almost as if he had a personal vendetta against the idea of tranquillity. He seemed to bring a wave of chaos wherever he went; Sparx wasn't always certain if Spyro was doing it intentionally or not. Regardless, the calamity was the opportunity that the amethyst-scaled dragon had been dreaming of and he pounced eagerly into the role of hero, dragging his dragonfly along with him.

Sparx would insist that he was dragged along against his will, but the thought of exploring the far reaches of the Dragon Realms in search of glory made his antennae tingle.

His mind cast back to his so-called "training" in the Dragonfly Dojo. The majority of his time had been spent suffering through mind-numbing lectures about the relationship between a dragon and his dragonfly, and the relationship between the two creatures' magics. The basic idea was that the inherent magic held by a dragonfly was enough for them to act as a portable shield – if the dragon pup sustained any significant damage then the dragonfly could step in and take the hit in their place. The magic contained within the insect's exoskeleton wasn't remotely strong enough to defend a dragon against harm on its own, but it _was_ strong enough to protect the **dragonfly** from harm. By taking the hit, the magic would almost immediately heal the dragonfly as if nothing had happened, but would only be useable for a maximum of three times before the dragonfly would need to retreat and recover. Preferably with a mouthful of butterfly.

The Dragon Masters were knowledgeable in their chosen principles, sure, but there was no way for their tuition to be passed on in a physical manner. It wasn't like they could just borrow a dragon pup for a practical demonstration; otherwise they would have the leaders' fists to answer to for putting a literally baby in harms way. Sparx understood the mechanics behind the proposition and what he could expect, but without trying the manoeuvre first-hand there was little to prepare him for when his skills were called upon.

Maybe the word "training" was giving it too much credit.

It was painfully obvious that the same tutoring was not given to the young dragons under the care of their insect friends. Spyro genuinely had very little clue about Sparx's purpose as his de-facto guardian when the journey across the Dragon realms began, and had to be reminded more than once the he needed to remember to provide a supply of butterflies if he wanted to keep his personal shield around. Sparx was a little hurt at first, but this passed quickly. The fact that the purple dragon was unaware that his dragonfly was a "tool" to be used but still chose to keep him around and spend the majority of his waking hours by his side with nothing to gain on his part made Sparx feel a little better.

The first time Sparx had to step in for a hit was one that was burned into his memory.

Considering that Spyro wasn't a Peace Keeper he was decidedly competent at holding his own in combat. The dragon pup never allowed the size of any Gnorc to intimidate him and trusted in his own physical capabilities to get the job done. He felled many enemies several times his size and armed with deadly weapons that glimmered with incandescent magic without blinking an eye. It was almost impressive, if a little scary. Sparx followed at his heels, keeping himself out of the reach of any grabby hands that would try and pluck his wings off, but stayed close enough to be of use if it was needed.

Instead he found his best talent arising from collecting gems. It was rumoured that the cretin Gnasty Gnorc had been pilfering from the dragons' treasury and was using gems to manufacture his militia, which was all but confirmed when said stolen gemstones clattered to the floor every time Spyro took down a foe, each glimmering with their own internal light like tiny stars. Their priority was the safety of the dragons trapped within crystal, but the love of gems was still strong within the blood of his best friend, who was loathe to leave a single area without every gem under his wing. It was just far quicker for Sparx to give each gem a head butt towards the dragon if he was in range so that the collection went a little quicker.

The duo couldn't deny that the relatively easy time they had through most of the Artisans Homeworld had made them a little cocky. Every enemy they had encountered could be taken out in one hit, whether that was with horns or fire, and the Gnorcs weren't exactly the most… _strategic_ enemies. Most of their battle plans involved charging headfirst at the pair and waving their weapons around and hoping that it connected with something. When they had been permitted entry to Toasty, who had taken over Nevin's castle and was running the show from behind the scenes, Spyro had been boldly encouraged at the idea of an actually challenging foe.

Sparx immediately noticed the hostile atmosphere when the two had touched down at the entrance to the castle. The orange of the permanent setting sun used to be warm and cosy, but now seemed to reflect malevolently across the endless ocean that surrounded the stone borders. Spyro didn't seem to pick up on this and blazed forward as he had always done. They were met by a shepherd, two of which they had fought and won against in Stone Hill before, but also a large sleeping sheepdog. The air was filled with the sound of nasally snoring, punctuated by cackling from the shepherds as they ruthlessly waved their crooks in the air. Spurred on by their success in the previous worlds, Spyro had narrowly dodged the shepherd's crook that tried to leave a dent in his skull, and blasted both enemies with fire.

This resulted in the purple dragon being flattened by a now singed and very _angry_ dog.

Looking back on it with the wisdom that Sparx had now, the two of them should probably have been paying more attention, and that was just as much his fault as it was Spyro's. Every enemy they'd beaten up until that point had fell to one hit, but the wave of flame that had struck the hound had only toasted its fur and drew its ire. The high that the duo had been riding on had caused them to become complacent, something that Artisans were unfortunately known for, allowing the mutt to get a sneak hit in by jumping and flattening the purple dragon with its belly. He had the wind knocked out of him by the impact, but the soft fur coating the dog's belly didn't break any bones or do any lasting damage.

Sparx had felt the crushing pain of the initial impact, which was dispelled almost immediately by a surge of heat from his spiracles. He hadn't consciously used his magic to protect his friend, but the link between the two of them had seemingly been enough to draw his magic out without his knowing. He knew it _hurt_ but it was over so quickly that he barely had time to flinch. The sudden departure of his innate magic out of his body and into the environment as it shed the damage that would've been caused to the dragon made his effervescent glow dull to a deep cobalt blue, a living indicator of the ticking clock before his magic ran out.

It wasn't a mistake the two would make again.

Spyro had been devastated. Very few of his clutchmates had the patience to tolerate the trouble that seemed to follow the purple dragon around and so, while the older dragons seemed to dote on him for a reason he wasn't permitted to understand yet, he didn't have any friends his age. Rather than seeing the golden dragonfly as his partner and nothing more, he saw the two as best friends – more like partners in _crime_. He truly believed that the festival was a chance to find a companion and not to find an asset to use to his advantage. Experiencing his best friend be injured because of him and in place of him broke his little scaly heart.

If Sparx had to choose a moment where the two moved forward in their relationship, it would be right there under the glow of the setting sun. The dragonfly had enjoyed his time in the Dragon Realms but the idea of functioning as nothing more than a csuit of armour to a dragon pup he knew very little about had left him feeling a little put out. Seeing the dragon work himself into such a tizzy about the arrangement, and knowing that Spyro had chosen to spend the greater part of Sparx's lifespan together without knowing that he stood to gain something from it made him rethink his opinion of his friend. Perhaps there was a greater meaning to the bond between a dragon and his dragonfly than simply being colleagues…

When Spyro got himself smacked over the head by Toasty's wooden stilts and Sparx turned from blue to green, he wondered if he was giving the young dragon too much credit after all.


	2. Chapter 2

(Damn it's been busy at work, but the second chapter is finally here! I have to say, taking my time with chapters and releasing them when they're ready and not a moment before is so much better.)

* * *

It was a good thing that Sparx wasn't known for being jealous. That was to say, it was a good thing that Sparx wasn't _openly_ jealous.

The inseparable duo had returned to the Artisans Homeworld to a veritable fanfare in their name. The dragon and dragonfly had taken on the malodorous Gnasty Gnorc, had rescued every one of the ensnared dragons – some of them had to be rescued twice – and collected all 14,000 pilfered gems with very little outside assistance. The Gnorcs were by no means wiped out but their numbers had been thinned to the point that they posed no threat, and without their leader they were as helpless as new-born lambs. The pair were revered as heroes, saviours of the Realms and all their denizens, scourge of the Gnorcs. They were showered with praise and gifts; Spyro even got a TV interview.

It would be more accurate to say that Spyro got the praise.

Sparx was still wrestling with his internalised feelings of ineptitude, even after their epic quest together, and the accolades placed upon the shoulders of his friend weren't helping. The golden dragonfly was more than aware that Spyro would argue with him about his feelings – he would detest the idea that their relationship was forged of nothing more than convenience. The purple dragon didn't interpret their bond as a tool to be honed and utilised, but these sympathies didn't necessarily translate to the rest of dragonkind. Many of them were significantly older than Spyro so were stuck in their traditional ways of thinking. No one denied that Sparx participated in the fighting through thick and thin, but ultimately they saw Spyro as the hero of the hour. Sparx was essentially delegated to sidekick.

He made a conscious effort not to be overly bitter about this. He tried to remember that the only opinion that ultimately mattered to him was that of his partner, and that the others brushing him aside should have no impact on his mood or his value, but he struggled none the less. Spyro had always been the one to physically battle the countless towering foes that stood between him and the scummy Gnorc leader, but Sparx was glued to his side the whole way through. They had crossed the borders between worlds in a hot air balloon together, skimmed the surface of scalding lava together, and had braved the beating from foes several times their size with no recourse.

Really, he almost appreciated that the defence that he provided didn't prevent Spyro from feeling pain. Otherwise the purple dragon would have no consequences to his reckless behaviour and no survival instincts whatsoever.

The yellow dragonfly still wondered if he was doing enough to warrant his continued partnership with Spyro. He was more than aware that the amethyst dragon wasn't old enough to deflect bullets or arrows with his scales or wings, but the lifeline that Sparx provided was limited in scope. He could only comfortably absorb three hits before needing to rapidly retreat and recover. His magic rejuvenated itself so slowly that the only time he was able to drag himself back into battle was if he had a belly full of butterfly. Having to admit defeat and back off while his best friend did all the work left a sour taste in his mouth. He was supposed to be acting as a guardian, but he felt inadequate.

It became quickly clear that Sparx was the not the only one who was unsatisfied. Spyro had absorbed the acclaim like a sponge, more familiar to being chided than being praised, but it seemed like it was starting to grind his gears a little. The purple dragon would never be able to bring himself to refuse the request of his peers, but being constantly stopped by newfound fans appealed to him less and less as the days went on. He had basked in the admiration but he now found it to be encroaching on his normal life to an unacceptable degree: he couldn't take three steps these days without being stopped and asked for his signature and it was beginning to invade his privacy.

They needed a vacation.

Of course, nothing that involved the purple dragon would ever go to plan. If Sparx had found the Dragon Realms to be overwhelmingly expansive then Avalar broke all those boundaries and then something. The Homeworlds back home had many portals, sure, but each of the worlds they were attached to had some form of spiritual or even physical connection. Any portal entered in the Beast Makers Homeworld would lead to a dingy swamp with muted earthy tones, any Magic Crafters portal would lead to a snow topped mountain peak with shimmering water. The dragonfly got the sense that if one were to pick a direction and walk for long enough they would eventually stumble across one of the other worlds, each land physically close to each other. It would just take a lot longer than was reasonable.

Avalar was something else. Sparx wasn't convinced that every world existed within the same _reality_ , never mind the same location. A foggy and magical marsh could be found next door to a futuristic utopia, trees shedding green and brown leaves that danced in the wind existed just a portal away from scalding lava, parched deserts, and war-torn bunkers. He couldn't help but wonder how all of these worlds came to coexist with each other, even if it was not always on the best of terms if Breeze Harbour and Zephyr were anything to go by. What were the odds of all these drastically foreign lands coming together to live side by side in relative harmony?

It honestly just made Sparx more appreciative of his relationship with Spyro. What the golden dragonfly saw as overbearing or anxiety inducing, the purple dragon saw as an adventure. Rather than be guided by fear he instead used it as motivation to keep pushing forward, and Sparx would never be far behind. He had vowed to use this gift to explore lands he would have otherwise only dreamt of and he refused to allow his timid nature to get in the way of his own achievements, or that of his best friend. If Spyro wanted him there, then Sparx would be there. No questions asked.

Speaking of which, the two had really come a long way since their fateful introduction during the festival. The purple dragon had stopped beating himself up so much every time Sparx used his inherent magic to protect the duo, although he still got the impression that Spyro was unhappy with the situation and was just biting his tongue. Now that the pair had experience both in and out of battle their bond had strengthened to the point that they could proceed without words and still act like a coordinated machine. Sparx found himself instinctively moving just out of the reach of any grasping hands that might try and snatch him out of the air without really planning it, and Spyro developed a sense of when to charge into battle horns first and when to take a little more of a calculated approach to minimise stress on his dragonfly.

Sparx didn't have a lot of time to speak with his fellow dragonflies now that he and his best friend were borderline celebrities, but the short snippets of gossip he was able to catch were surprising. Every dragon had been affected by Gnasty's rampage in some way, even the children, but Spyro was the only one to take up arms. Considering that a select number of elder dragons had attempted to mount an assault against his forces in Gnorc Gnexus and been promptly encased in crystal for the _second_ time, perhaps this was a good thing. Sparx still questioned the reliability and strength of a dragon that was beaten out by a child and an insect.

The dragonflies seemed to be generally split in opinion about the whole escapade. Some bore a seething jealousy against Sparx, envious that their own dragon hadn't been offered the chance to travel all the worlds several times over. Some were glad it wasn't them in the driver's seat, enduring blow after blow in defence of their dragon. The fact that the yellow dragonfly was being talked about at all, whether that was in a positive manner or not, still did a lot to soothe his bitterness. Spyro might have been receiving all the praise from his kin, but the knowledge that he was not completely forgotten was reassuring.

He did disagree with a lot of the dragonflies, though. Many complained that the opportunity for greatness was practically handed to the duo on a platter and that they were somehow undeserving because of this. Sparx had been bothered by this sentiment at first, but he knew in his heart that this wasn't the case. When the dragons were ensnared in crystal, there was nothing to _force_ Spyro into action, no real call to arms or prophecy that he would prevail that would drive the pair forward. There was also nothing stopping any of the other dragons making a resolute stand with their own dragonflies and making the same arduous journey through all the Dragon Realms in defence of their elders. The golden dragonfly couldn't blame them for not wanting to risk their lives for the sake of glory, but the idea that the two were somehow handpicked for the role upset him in a way that he didn't know how to phrase.

Sparx let out a huff of frustration. Lingering on the malignant attitude of the other dragonflies was not going to help him feel better about himself. If they were so willing to disregard his achievements then he was just going to have to prove them wrong. Spyro had done that to his kind, and Sparx could do the same.

* * *

The purple dragon liked to describe himself as a humble being, eager to receive praise but hesitant to brag. Whether anyone would agree with him on that front was another thing entirely.

Sparx had initially found the magic drenched Avalar to be chaotic and uncoordinated, portals leading to the most random stretches of land with each world almost completely secluded from the others around it. This was something foreign to the pair – the Dragon Realms also consisted of multiple words strung together like garlands, but every world shared its denizens. An Artisan was still an Artisan whether they called the open grassy pastures of Stone Hill or the shadowy and mystical Dark Hollow their home. The lands were conjoined in a sense, reliant on the magic that flowed through each portal like syrup as a life force.

The worlds of Avalar were the exact opposite. The marshy waters of Idol Springs were barely a stone's throw away from the sparkling mines of Glimmer, the frozen wastelands of Crystal Glacier were just over the horizon of the lava lakes of Skelos Badlands. Each world was still tethered to its Homeworld through the portal, but the magic didn't flow like as single stream. It eddied and whirled as the two barely related energies mixed with each other like oil and water. It was a remarkable feat that the worlds were still holding together so well, and a testament to the deep saturation of magic that gave every world its life.

Sparx couldn't help but wonder if the aura that blanketed the Realms were having an effect on his best friend. Spyro was an extremely competent dragon but even he would openly admit that his abilities were not that impressive when compared to his brethren. If one were to overlook the fact that some dragons came out of the egg breathing fire and flying at Mach One which Spyro most definitely did _not_ do, his prowess was more tied to his strategic mind, charisma, and complete lack of self-preservation.

Sparx was almost grateful that his own magic only protected Spyro from damage. If it also protected him from feeling _pain_ then the dragon would have no survival instincts at all!

The two together already considered themselves an unbreakable team, but the excursion through Avalar really gave Spyro a chance to shine. They might have had to grease a few palms, or more specifically the same ursine palm several times, but the purple dragon's repertoire rapidly grew. He had only known how to rely on his breath and his horns but now he was pulling his weight up ladders many times his height, holding his breath underwater indefinitely, and using his skull to smash rocks large enough to kill a Gnorc. Sparx was more than relieved that the magic bond between the two of them didn't force him to absorb the damage caused by Spyro crushing boulders with his head. _One_ of the two had to be the brains of the operation, and it wasn't going to be Spyro any time soon.

He didn't question why Spyro hated water so much before when a dragon could apparently hold their breath for as long as they felt like it, and Spyro never elaborated. At least he didn't flail about dramatically ever time his scales got a little wet any more.

The dragonfly was filled with both pride and discontent at his friend's progression. Spyro was clearly beginning to come into his own as a dragon; he still kept the naïve childlike frivolity and desire for justice that defined his personality but he was no longer the inexperienced and unprepared sprog that he was before. There was a certain hardness in his eyes that comes from battle that took over his being whenever a threatening enemy crossed their path. Sparx didn't envy any creature of the receiving end of such a gaze.

On the _other_ hand, while Spyro was developing and honing his skills like a sharpened knife Sparx felt as if he was being left behind. He knew his place – a dragonfly was tasked with shielding a dragon from harm until they were old enough to defend themselves. Thoughts sprinted through his head that his purple friend would soon not need protecting, especially with his new repertoire of moves, and the two would part ways as the procedure dictated they would. The longer the duo remained a team together, the more unbearable this thought became.

Sparx shook the thought out of his head resolutely. He was determined not to allow himself to dwell on the inevitability of fate: if he couldn't effect it then why worry about it. If the two _had_ to split up as Sparx grew old and weary while Spyro lived for centuries after he was long gone, then they would address that when the time was right. He would not allow any misgivings he had about their relationship to get in the way of their journeys together. He owed the denizens of Avalar as much, and he owed his best friend even more.

If Sparx felt like he was falling behind, then it was his job to do something about it. He wasn't sure _what_ he could do, but there must be something…

It was common knowledge that a dragonfly's magic wasn't enough to allow them to survive passing through portals, nor was it enough to defend themselves in any way. They needed the robust reserves of their dragon as reinforcement, propping up their own magic and giving them a solid foundation before the effects could be observed. But if Spyro had taught him anything, it was that being _told_ something was not the same as _doing_ something. Gnasty Gnorc had been imprisoned in Gnorc Gnexus because the dragon elders didn't feel that they had the means to deal with him, but the means turned out to be nothing more than fire and a little bravery peppered in for good measure. Perhaps he should focus less on what he was told he would amount to and focus more on what he wanted to become.

Feeling his resolve strengthen at the revelation, he returned his attention back to Spyro who was trying and failing to obliterate the ski boats taunting him in Ocean Speedway. The purple dragon flew as close to the water as he dared, the salty ocean spray grazing the scales on his belly. Sparx couldn't see his expression from such a distance, but it was doubtless one of intense focus. The drivers of the ski boats taunted him furiously, jeering and laughing as they swerved to avoid the plumes of flame that Spyro let from his mouth. The cheering of the fish in the crowd as they watched the display remained strong in support of the dragon, putting a smile on Sparx's face.

This wasn't what he had imagined when they decided to go on vacation, but the time spent in the paradise that was Avalar was enjoyable none the less.

* * *

It wasn't until the two entered the Forgotten Realms that Sparx's abilities truly began to shine through.

He was beginning to wonder what it was about the duo that seemed to attract so much trouble. One moment they were sitting on a beach in Dragon Shores drinking smoothies and playing carnival games, and the next they were trying to force themselves down a literal rabbit hole to the other side of the world to rescue unhatched dragon eggs. No one would ever describe their life as uneventful. When Sparx had resolved to leave Dragonfly Falls to chase his dream of exploring the uncharted reaches of the worlds the yellow dragonfly hadn't imagined he would be pulled into adventure after adventure in such a rapid succession.

He was beginning to get the distinct impression that Spyro was a little unhappy in the Dragon Realms. His itchy feet at being stuck in one spot for too long combined with his over eagerness to jump horn-first into any adventure that he could get a whiff of was quickly revealing a pattern. Sparx could sympathise – it wasn't that long ago that he himself felt confined and restricted in the waterfalls that he grew up in, desperate for a chance to spread his wings and explore a world that was larger than the one he was caged within. Spyro might only be a small dragon, but his spirit was larger than any other dragon he had met.

The whimsy of the Forgotten Realms was not lost on the duo, but the yellow dragonfly didn't feel as much culture shock as he had done for Avalar. Maybe he could chalk that up to the fading presence of dragon magic acting as a security blanket, or perhaps it was because he was becoming more hardened to his surroundings. Either way, it was a relief.

The dragonfly felt a deep sorrow within himself at the state of the Forgotten Realms. The only other worlds Sparx had experienced were rife with magic, trickling down every stream and growing from every blade of grass. The idea of a world without magic is one that he had never considered before. It was common knowledge that the Dragon Realms relied on the magic of said scaly inhabitants to function, which was reinforced by the degradation of Gnorc Gnexus after the dragons had abandoned the world and left it to rot, and Avalar seemed to have enough of its own magic to drown an army of Rhynocs. The current state of the former Dragon Junkyard was almost like a premonition of the future of the Forgotten Realms if the dragons did not return – with no magic presence of its own the world would simply shrivel until it blinked out of existence with no ceremony or explosion. Whole lands and their denizens would just vanish overnight.

Oh yes, and collecting the dragons eggs was important too.

Sparx felt a mixture of excitement and dread when Zoe approached the duo for assistance. The fairy had been a sight for sore eyes on their many adventures before but this was the first time that the golden dragonfly could recall her coming to them with bad news. The small army of fairies that resided in Haunted Towers and Lofty Castle had come with Spyro to the Forgotten Realms, motivated by the loss of the unborn dragon pups, and had spent their time scouring the lands for misfortunate eggs that the two might not have spotted. They couldn't bring the eggs back themselves, their spindly arms too weak to carry the shells and their slumbering inhabitants unaided, but they could use their magic to update the location of the eggs in Spyro's guidebook for the pair to use. This varied anywhere from an accurate location or a description of the task needed to location the abandoned egg, all the way to puzzles and brain teasers as if they were playing a board game.

Sparx had no idea why the fairies felt the desire to be so obnoxiously cryptic all the time, but he supposed any help was beneficial.

Unfortunately in this case, one of the eggs the fairy crew had found was hidden very well, a rarity for the Rhynocs who seemed more than happy to leave eggs lying in the open for anyone to trip over. How on earth they had managed to squeeze the egg through the narrow hole in the electric fence surrounding Crawdad Farm was beyond reason, but it was well and truly stuck with no way of Spyro reaching it. Even if he could fold his wings as tightly into his back as he could manage, the horns protruding from his head would doubtlessly graze the wire fence, and Spyro was in no mood to electrocute himself any time soon. They had considered trying to dig under the fence, but even if the purple dragon gained entry into the farmlands he would be so tightly packed into the area below ground that it would make fighting near impossible.

That was where Sparx came in. His best friend might be too large to fit, but _he_ was not. The dragonfly's antennae wouldn't stop twitching with fear – the whole reason why he had accepted the terms of the Master Dragons to bond with one of their kin was because a dragonfly had no way of defending themselves against anything more aggressive than the occasional butterfly. He didn't have claws or horns, couldn't breathe fire, he didn't have anything in his arsenal that would pack a punch against a hoard of crustaceans armed with deadly claws and a taste for pain.

Zoe was insistent, and Sparx found himself unable to decline. He didn't feel as if his role in the retrieval of the other eggs was insignificant, but he _did_ feel that Spyro was pulling most of the heavy-duty work. He relented after Zoe explained she would assist him, and the two departed together. Spyro shot him a thumbs up as he went, making Sparx feel a little better about the proposal. Knowing that his best friend believed in his strength bolstered his courage a little.

The first thing he noticed about the Crawdad Farms was the _smell_. Sparx had visited farmlands before but this was nothing like he was expecting. The area hand a lingering odour of dirt that he couldn't seem to shake off, instead of the scent of hay like he was expecting. Light streamed in from above illuminating the ground in a beautiful warm glow that had baked the earth below him as if it was clay. It made him grateful that he didn't have to walk on the ground like a dragon. He had needed to squeeze his wings through a hole in an electrified fence to break into the facility, a fact that persisted throughout the farm with the electric gates, and Spyro would definitely have not been able to climb it. He was still traumatised after being shocked by Blowhard.

The area was barely even a farm! Either the Sorceress had an unhealthy taste for crustaceans or the crawdads had taken over the place. Either way, this was no place for a dragon egg.

Sparx wasn't sure whether to be relieved or upset at the revelation that he was able to fight back. He was no stranger to the idea of learned helplessness – the notion that if one was told repeatedly that they lacked the means to protect themselves then they would believe this to the point where the statement because true, even if it was not true before. The cynical side of Sparx told him that this might have been intentional on the part of the dragons, a rule intended to trick the dragonflies in subservience, but the more rational part of his mind told him that this was ridiculous.

Zoe taught Sparx about potential combat manoeuvres he could use in the absence of his purple friend. The magic that coursed through a dragonfly's vein that was used to absorb damage taken by any under his care was not being used right now, so could be repurposed as a method of self-defence. If he concentrated the spark of magic between his antennae like a beam of light he could project it forward like bullets that would tear through any living matter, provided the enemy was covered in armour. Zoe compared it to Spyro's fire which worked in a similar manner, but rather than a steady stream the yellow dragonfly would need to shoot pellets to allow his magic to recuperate between shots. He did _not_ want to run out of magic in a place like this.

Thankfully the Crawdads seemed to possess the same intellect as the Rhynocs that the yellow dragonfly had faced before, relying on overwhelming numbers rather than complicated strategies. They were more than happy to buzz towards him single file so they could be taken out with very little effort.

That presented another quandary, this time a little more personal. Sparx considered the reason why he was able to shoot energy bullets and use power-ups as a dragonfly, and he came to rest on three possible conclusions: his magic was being supported by Zoe, who accompanied him on his treks through the farms. His magic was being supported by Spyro, who wasn't physically present however the bond between them still persisted regardless of distance. _Or,_ and Sparx considered this to be the least likely, his magic has simply grown on his own.

Then again, the finer points of his personal growth meant very little in the current situation. He was content to leave the existential crisis for later. He had an egg to recover.

The farm was almost labyrinthine in design, rooms leading to dead ends and electrified gates were abundant and infuriating. The glow cast from the bolts of electricity that blocked his path reflected off the shiny red exoskeletons of the crawdads, their claws clattering as they snapped them together menacingly. Sparx refused to let himself be intimidated – he might not have engaged in battle directly before, but he had faced off against much worse than some angry lobsters.

He developed a better understand of his best friend as he mowed down waves of enemies and unlocked paths with keys. The golden dragonfly had found the dragons' near obsession with gemstones and wealth to be an indication of avarice, as if they were relying on monetary gains to prove their worth rather than using their strength of character to achieve the same. Many dragons even slept atop their hoards of gold and gems, competing to see who could demonstrate the most hubris and wear it like a badge of honour. The dragonfly never understood this mind-set, but upon his discovery that stray gems had made their way to Crawdad Farm along with the first time he collected a gem _himself_ rather than just giving it a forceful nudge in Spyro's direction made him wonder if he was being too judgemental towards a species that he still didn't know much about. The idea that the gems he reclaimed from within the depths of the farmlands were his and his alone, not part of a larger treasury or collection, gave him a sense of pride. He wondered if he was the only dragonfly to have ever owned wealth before.

Well, he knew that wasn't strictly true. Sparx wouldn't be able to keep himself from sharing his spoils with Spyro. He would be a pretty terrible best friend and guardian otherwise.

Eating a power up butterfly was certainly a new experience to add to his memoires. No such thing existed in the Dragon Realms, despite the fact that the Forgotten Realms were severely lacking in terms of magic saturation, but he figured this was simply because there was no need for them. Sparx didn't doubt that any semi-competent Beast Maker could whip up a butterfly that granted magical abilities with their eyes closed: they already had a starting point with the Supercharge and the power-up portals. But the idea that a dragonfly had no method of self defence when not considering their dragon partner, there was very little market for magic butterflies.

When he found his first one, Sparx was already down to a miserable blue hue. One of the larger rooms had contained a box that seemed to produce an endless supply of Crawdads like a clown car, but an impenetrable translucent cyan barrier protected the box. Sparx had braved the masses and cleared a path through using his magic shots, but the flimsy box kept aggressively churning out crustaceans as fast as the yellow dragonfly could take them down. With not enough room above him to manoeuvre over the crowd of crawdads he found himself with very little options of escape. The beady eyes of the crawdads felt like they were piercing through him in their unrelenting gaze.

Sparx considered what Spyro would do in this situation. Well, he _knew_ what Spyro would do in this situation: the two had been outnumbered by enemies using armour before. The purple dragon would break into a cocky grin before putting his head down and using his unbreakable horns to shatter the armour coating each enemy. Somehow both Gnorcs and Rhynocs were equally pathetic once they realised they were unprotected and would usually go running, Spyro hot on their heels. Sparx wasn't disillusioned enough to believe that the same tactics could apply, seeing as the two weren't even the same species, but the bravery and tenacity shown by his best friend could at least set an example.

Bracing himself for impact, Sparx revved up his wings and charged forward as fast as he could manage, head down and eyes squeezed closed in determination.

It worked about as well as he had anticipated. This is to say, not at all.

After he had recovered from his ordeal his next priority was finding a butterfly. He had taken a bit of a beating in his charge for safety and was itching for a snack to replenish his magic. Sparx had covered for Spyro for such a long time that he had forgotten how it felt to have an attack directed directly at his hide, rather than the purple hide of his best friend. He didn't miss the sensation. The first butterfly he came across sparkled with teal flecks of light that rolled through the air with every wing beat. Sparx raised a single metaphorical eyebrow – it was certainly the most "eye-catching" butterfly he had ever seen. He wasn't sure if it would even be edible…

Considering how desperate he was for a booster, he threw caution to the wind and swallowed the insect down in one bite. It was like a supernova in his stomach, a bright burst of energy that warmed his whole body up and made the tips of his wings tingle. Whatever magic was trapped inside the butterfly was coursing through his veins, bolstering his own magic to the point where it was unable to be contained within his body, flowing out of him in streams. Was this how Spyro felt every time he careened down a Supercharge ramp or used a power-up? He could see why the purple dragon enjoyed them so much, and it wasn't just because of the power it could give him. He felt rejuvenated like all the hits he'd taken had been washed away, and he was ready for a fight.

It was just as well – the boss of Crawdad Farms was waiting for him around the corner and was craving a fight. Sparx wasn't sure if the Crawdad King was trying to avenge its fallen comrades or if it just liked to kill things, but the exact motive made no difference. He was a giant crustacean, easily several times the size of the yellow dragonfly, with a thick moustache and black beady eyes that glimmered with hate. The crawdads in the farm had been hostile, but acted like they were just going about their business in doing so. The King relished in aggression. Sparx swallowed.

Remembering the power granted to him by the butterfly, Sparx approached the Crawdad King only to dodge quickly to one side to avoid a barrage of rockets that blasted out of the blue markings on the monarch's back. It appeared that the crawdad was using the same magic butterflies to power himself up, just as Sparx had. Luckily, he still had ammo left from the last one he ate, and if his time with Spyro had taught him anything it was that fire should be fought with fire. Sometimes even literally. The golden dragonfly slid sideways, his wings almost moving in circles to allow for the unnatural movement, causing the rockets to overshoot his position and explode against the wall behind him.

Tapping into his own innate magic and feeling the bubbling sensation of the extra magic alongside it, he shot at the crustacean monarch. Rather than a single stream of bullets he jettisoned an undulating wave of energy at the crawdad, the magic expelled in one large blast. The Crawdad King seemed unfazed and continued his barrage, each rocket slipping past the dragonfly and against the borders of the room. Sparx heard the ruckus of something collapsing in a room to his left, and worried that the explosives might bring the whole farm down on top of the two duelling invertebrates. The Crawdad King didn't seem to care all that much.

The two darted around each other for a short time, neither willing to draw close and bring the fight to an end until the Crawdad King seemed to have taken too much damage to mindlessly power through. The adrenaline rushing through Sparx's veins jolted at the sight of the crustacean's claws falling off and dropping to the dirt floor with a sickening crunch. The crawdad didn't even flinch as if Sparx had inflicted nothing more than a flesh wound; simply opting to change its tactics. The rally of rockets became a broad wave of flame expelled from its mandibles that seared the ground below it as it spread out and across the arena.

Sparx put the situation behind him – if he got distracted then the Crawdad King wouldn't hesitate to go in for the kill. He had to stay focused.

The moment of relief only came when the Crawdad King was defeated, evaporating into thin air as if it had never existed. The sudden quiet of the farms now seemed a little eerie, especially at the thought that the silence was caused by the actions of Sparx himself. He wished that Spyro had been present to crack a joke or break the tension, but that would come later. Hopefully his friend was still waiting for him to return triumphant and prove that his worry was all for nothing.

The lost dragon egg was found at the far end of the room by the exit portal. It seemed to be completely unharmed – although a little dirty – and rocked gently side to side with the movement of the child inside. Sparx smiled, memories of his own time caged within the confines of his egg before he was born filling his mind. The journey had been rough and he would not be rushing to throw himself into another enemy filled location any time soon, but the thought of the infant inside that egg made it all worth it.

Sparx didn't need the approval of anyone else – he only needed the approval of himself. The knowledge that at least one dragon was safe due to his efforts, and his efforts alone, was plenty.


End file.
